by Jim C. Hines
“Oh. That’s good.” Jig’s head felt tingly. Was this what happened when you lost too much blood? Darnak was praying and working on the wound, but Jig still hurt. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he shouldn’t worry until the shoulder stopped hurting.
“Have him drink this.” Darnak handed a waterskin to Riana, who put it to Jig’s lips. His mouth felt parched, and he sucked eagerly.
Only to spit and cough a moment later. That wasn’t water; Darnak had passed over his wineskin. In other circumstances, Jig would have been stunned by the gesture.
“Here now, don’t be wasting it. That’s good stuff, and I can’t get more until my cousin returns from down south.” Darnak grabbed the skin and took a swig for himself. “Care to take another shot at it?”
This time, Jig forced himself to swallow, even though it made his throat burn and his eyes water even harder. He felt vapor rise into his sinuses, making his head light. The pain in his shoulder was still there, but somehow it didn’t matter quite as much. He took another few swallows.
Darnak grinned. “Dwarven ale,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “Made in the finest underground breweries in the land.”
“Tastes like klak beer,” Jig said.
“Watch your tongue,” Darnak snapped. “This is fine dwarven drink. No race in the world can match it, least of all goblins. You can’t even make this stuff without knowing where to find the best Blue-spotted Mushrooms, the oldest Nightblooms. . . .”
“And a lot of Ruffled Lichen root,” Jig added. He considered the taste. “This needs to age more, though.”
Darnak scowled at him and snatched his wineskin back. “You need to rest.”
Jig smiled as the dwarf worked on his shoulder. This was more like it. Riana was watching him with, well not exactly respect, but at least without her usual loathing. Darnak was healing him, just like he had done for Barius. And for the first time in Jig’s recollection, probably the first time since the world was born, a dwarf had shared a drink with a goblin.
Riana pressed something into Jig’s mouth, and he chewed automatically. “Ptah,” he muttered. He should have known it was too good to be true. First they treated him like a friend, then they tried to feed him bread.
“Eat it,” Darnak said firmly. “You’ll need your strength.”
What else could he do? He didn’t want to offend the one who was closing the hole in his shoulder. So he forced himself to chew and swallow. He took small bites. That way he didn’t have to chew as much, and the dusty aftertaste didn’t linger as long. He hoped Riana might take the hint, but she kept shoving bread at him until the whole thing was gone. She even seemed to enjoy his disgust there at the end.
“Where’s Barius?” Jig asked.
“With his brother.” Darnak shook his head. “They hate each other, but neither wants to see the other die. Not unless it’s by their own hand, that is. Strange and tragic, but true.”
The dwarf sat up. “Best I can do, but a mite better than I’d hoped. You’ll have an ugly scar, and a matching one on back. Don’t strain that left arm anytime soon, either. But you’ll live.” He laughed. “At least until the next time you go picking fights with two wizards in one day.”
He helped Jig to sit up. Smudge had rejoined him at some point, and now scooted to his normal spot on Jig’s shoulder. “Good spider,” he muttered.
Jig tried to stand, but his head spun, and he decided maybe it would be better to stay on the floor and not move for a while. Yes, that would be for the best. He perked his ears—even his ears hurt—and listened as Darnak joined Barius.
“So how’s his wizardness doing?”
“My brother will survive,” Barius said angrily. “A fortunate thing for you, Darnak. Even striking a prince is an offense worthy of death. Had you killed him, you would have left me no choice but to execute you.”
Darnak grunted. “Aye, and you’d have left me no choice but to box your ears. Would you rather I let him kill us all then?” He didn’t give the prince time to answer. “Come on, we’ve got to be finding a way out of here. Maybe if we get him back home, your father’s advisers will have some ideas for restoring his mind.”
“What do you mean, leave? Our quest is unfinished, Darnak.”
“Aye, and your brother the wizard has lost his mind, or were you forgetting that? He’s beyond my power to help, Your Majesty. How were you planning to finish your quest without Ryslind?”
“It is my quest,” Barius said coldly. “My brother has experienced these fits of weakness before. He shall recover in time.”
“Fits of weakness, are they?” Darnak laughed. “This is the first time he’s been shooting members of his own party. And he wasn’t too weak to toss you about, was he?”
“That goblin is no member of my party.”
Darnak’s eyes widened. “Oh, is that so? Then I suppose he should have left the Necromancer alive for you to kill.”
“Your tone borders dangerously close to treason, Darnak.”
The dwarf snorted. He looked ready to speak, but paused when he saw the fury in Barius’s bulging eyes and white lips. “Perhaps, Majesty,” he said. “I’m only trying to do my job and keep you alive.”
Barius smiled at this concession. “You are my tutor no longer. You were brought for your skill at arms, your experience in the bowels of the mountains, and your gift for cartography. If you find yourself unable to restrict yourself to these duties, you may wait here for my return.” He turned his back on the dwarf and ran his hands over the arms of the throne.
“Where are you going?” Jig asked. “And what’s a cartographer?” He couldn’t figure out what carts had to do with anything. Unless they planned to build a cart to carry the treasure out with them. That made sense.
“I am departing this accursed place,” Barius said. He tugged the top of the throne. Nothing happened, so he ripped out the cushions and began to poke and prod at the seat. “There may be a concealed passageway by the throne.”
“And how would you know that?” Riana asked.
Barius gave her a tolerant smile. “Common sense. At any time a ruler could find himself in need of a quick escape route. That truth is even more common for black-hearted lords such as this Necromancer, whose enemies are many. What better place to make your escape than through the throne itself?”
Jig’s brow wrinkled. “Is there a hidden door behind your father’s throne?”
“Of course not,” Barius said quickly. “My father is beloved by his subjects, and has no need to plan for escape.”
Perhaps Barius is adopted. For if the father were anything at all like the son, Jig couldn’t understand how he had survived long enough to walk upright, let alone to rule a country.
“Behold,” Barius said. His chest swelled with triumph. “The throne itself moves. Darnak, help me to shift it back.”
The dwarf lent his bulk to the task. Slowly the great throne scraped back a few inches, screeching like a tortured animal. Jig pinched his ears shut. Apparently Barius had been correct this time. Though if this was meant to be a quick escape route, why was it so hard to move the throne? Jig had a hard time imagining the diminutive Necromancer shoving the throne aside when Darnak and Barius together could barely move it.
The floor around the throne vanished. Darnak and Barius tried to cling to the now-floating throne, but couldn’t find handholds. Jig had one glimpse of Riana’s face before she fell. She had come over to watch the prince search, and thanks to her curiosity, she now tumbled after the others.
That made more sense, Jig decided as he crawled to the edge of the hole. So it had been a trap, not an escape route. Yes, that was more in keeping with the Necromancer’s style.
Darnak had set the lantern on the floor next to the throne. When the floor vanished, the lantern had followed the others into the pit, leaving Jig blind. He moved slowly and tested every inch of the floor as he went. A muted chuckle drew Jig’s attention away from the pit. Ryslind was awake and laughing, though the rag Darnak
had tied into his mouth muffled the sound. The light from his eyes gave his face a demonic red tinge.
They’re going to die down there.
Ryslind’s voice spoke in his head. No, not Ryslind, but the second voice, the voice of whatever had taken control of the wizard.
Fools and children. Straum will slaughter you all like insects.
Jig walked over and kicked the wizard in the stomach. Why was everyone suddenly speaking in his mind? Bad enough when Shadowstar did it. Jig had nearly wet himself that time. Was he now to endure Ryslind’s babble as well?
Not for much longer, little goblin.
Jig’s eyes narrowed. Moving by the faint light from Ryslind’s eyes, he grabbed the ropes around the wizard’s ankles and dragged him over to the pit. His shoulder ached, but Darnak had done a good job, and his wound remained closed. Jig looked into Ryslind’s glowing eyes, and for the first time, he didn’t flinch away from that dark red light.
The only escape is to fall on that sword of yours.
Jig shoved him into the pit. Then he sat down with his legs dangling over the edge and tried to figure out what he should do.
“Which tile was it?” Jig slid his sword along the floor until it hit the slight dip that marked the edge of a tile. He tapped the next one with his sword. One of these had opened the walls. They had killed most of the creatures here the first time they triggered the trap, so if Jig set it off again, he should be safe. He hoped. Besides, the Necromancer’s wand was destroyed. This was probably the safest place in the whole mountain.
What frightened Jig was knowing that it was also the emptiest place. Aside from the bats and whatever else inhabited that chasm, he and Smudge were the only living things down here. He could survive for a few days if he stayed, but he would eventually go mad from hunger and thirst.
So he had to get out of here. He couldn’t go up, not unless he had a way to swim through the whirlpool and avoid the lizard-fish. Even if Tymalous Shadowstar decided to help him again, Jig doubted he could manage that much. Which left down. He would have to follow the others.
He had shouted into the black pit for a while, but nobody answered. The pit absorbed his voice, making him sound small and scared. Which he was, but he didn’t like having the fact thrown in his face.
After putting his boots back on, he had felt around for his bracelet, but the metal had melted into the wand. There was no way for Jig to wear it anymore, even if it still had any power, which he doubted. He tucked the glob of metal into his belt as a souvenir, in case he ever got home. The other goblins would never believe it was the Necromancer’s wand. But it would be a good keepsake nonetheless.
The other thing he wanted was light. A lantern, a torch, even a candle would be a godsend. Jig held his breath at that thought, thinking Shadowstar might take the hint, but no candle appeared in his hand. He sighed and kept walking. No light, no bracelet, and no food.
The thirteenth tile shifted beneath his sword. The faint whiff of preservative and dust drifting into the air told him the alcoves had opened again. Logically, Jig knew he was safe. Logic, however, had only a single small voice, and was easily overwhelmed by panic. Jig shouted and waved his sword around his head as he waited for the attack to come.
Nothing happened. Jig lowered his weapon slowly. His chest pounded, and his palms were so sweaty he doubted he could have used the sword, even if something had attacked.
He stepped into the alcove where he had hidden with Riana. The noose should be to his right. Jig hoped he would be able to use the rope to lower himself into the pit. He was about to scour the ground when the god spoke to him again.
The panel, dummy.
Jig jerked up indignantly. What did he . . . the panel . . . oh no. Jig leaped for the hallway, hoping he was fast enough. He had only been in the alcove for a second or two. Was it too late? Had the panel already reappeared, trapping him inside? If so, he prayed he would hit it hard enough for the impact to kill him.
He made it through. He felt like he had leaped through an icy waterfall, but he was out. His legs were shaking so badly he had to sit down. That was stupid. Stupid! He could have died. After surviving the Necromancer and everything else, he could have starved to death because of a dumb mistake. Nobody would have come around to let him out of the alcove this time.
Once his hands no longer shook, he opened the panel again. This would be tricky even were he able to see. Snagging the rope and pulling it out in the darkness was next to impossible.
But Jig was in no great hurry. For the first time in several days, he didn’t need to worry about anyone sneaking up on him or stabbing him from behind.
He experimented for a while to find out exactly how long he had before the panel closed. It would remain open for a little more than two breaths after he touched the floor or wall of the alcove. Plenty of time to reach in, holding his sword by the blade, and drag the crossguard across the floor toward him. All he had to do was catch the rope.
After cutting his hand twice, he stripped off his loincloth and wrapped it around the blade for protection. Everyone else was dead or gone, so he wasn’t worried about modesty.
He pulled out at least half of the skeleton in assorted bits and pieces before he managed to snag the noose. Once he had rope in hand, he stood up and redid his loincloth. Feeling decently dressed once more, he hurried back to the Necromancer’s throne room.
The rope measured seven feet once Jig untied the knot. It would have been longer, but he had sliced off the last few feet when he cut it from his neck. Jig sat down at the edge of the pit and began to work.
The rope consisted of three cords twisted together, and Jig guessed that any one of those cords would hold his weight. He wouldn’t have wanted to haul Darnak around with one, but goblins were skinny and light. It took a while to get the cords unraveled. The rope acted almost alive, the way it twined about itself and tried to tangle into knots.
In the end, Jig held a thin rope about twenty feet long. He tugged on the two knots that bound the cords end to end. They didn’t give. Satisfied, he tied a loop in one end and tried to toss it over the arm of the throne. Looping the arm of a floating throne in pitch blackness would have challenged even the most coordinated of heroes. Jig took close to an hour before the rope caught.
The plan would have worked, save for his cut hand. As he lowered himself into the pit, his hand flared with pain. His arms were already tired from throwing the rope so many times. With blood on one hand and sweat slicking the other, his hands slipped free, and Jig followed his companions into the darkness.
He landed on his backside on something springy and damp. The sudden light blinded him. After so long in silence, the noise greeted Jig like a long-lost friend. He heard a breeze blowing. A rustling sound surrounded him, and in the distance, he heard the whistling of birds. Birds, in Straum’s lair? He shrugged. Sparrows and other birds flew into the tunnels from time to time. They made great snacks. Perhaps there was a crack leading to the surface, small enough for birds to fly in and out.
“Jig? Is that you? We were wondering if you’d be joining us.”
“Darnak?” Jig turned toward the sound. Everything was still too bright, but he could make out the dwarf’s stocky form a few feet away. “It was either follow you down or stay there and starve.”
“Good choice.” Darnak’s hand clapped Jig on the shoulder. “Since you’re here, mayhaps you can help us with a bit of a dilemma. See, this isn’t exactly what we were expecting to find down here.”
They waited for Jig’s eyes to adjust. When they had, he looked around in amazement. He sat in a field of soft green grass. Trees ringed the field at a distance of roughly a hundred yards. Sunlight warmed his skin, and he could smell the soft sweetness of pollen in the breeze. He scraped at the damp ground, digging up a clump of grass to find, not cold stone, but moist, black soil.
“I’m outside,” he whispered, not knowing whether to rejoice or cower at the news. He raised a hand and saw his shadow on the ground. It di
dn’t waver, as it would have done in torchlight. Clear and sharp, his shadow-hand followed his real one perfectly. Slowly Jig looked up at the sky.
“Wow.”
He even stopped breathing as he stared. He saw no sign of the rope he had used to climb down. Nothing but blue sky, and clouds like white clumps of fur drifting past. He reached out, but the clouds were too far away to touch. How high were they? They looked to be at least thirty or forty feet up, higher than anything Jig had ever seen.
And the sun! An orange circle that shone with warm, perfect light, like a thousand thousand torches all burning together. He squinted, trying to see if it burned like a normal fire.
“It’s not real,” Darnak said. “If ’twere, you’d be blind right about now.”
Jig ignored him. Real or not, this was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. He didn’t know how they had come here or even where “here” was, but none of that mattered. After spending his whole life underground, knowing nothing but the lair and a few dark tunnels, Jig had discovered a completely new world. Still gaping, he managed to tear his eyes away from the sun long enough to say, “It’s so big.”
CHAPTER 12
Big Prints, Mad Prince
“I take it then,” Darnak said dryly, “that you wouldn’t be knowing how to find the dragon.”
Jig shook his head. From time to time, he had fantasized about sneaking down and making off with some piece of Straum’s treasure. Every goblin dreamed about it. A few of the older ones told stories about their search for the dragon’s lair. Some even claimed to have made it past the Necromancer.
Nobody had ever described anything like this place. Jig had known they were lying, of course. Oh, he believed goblins tried to explore the deeper levels. What he didn’t believe was that any of them survived to come back and tell stories about the experience.
Staring again at the world around him, he wondered if he would get the chance to share what he had seen. The grass tickled the backs of his knees when he moved, and he laughed with delight. He lay back and stared into the sky. So open and endless . . . after a lifetime of living beneath solid rock, he felt as though he could fall into that blue sea and float forever. A wave of vertigo made him gulp, and he gripped the grass with both hands.
